


In the End, There is No Escape

by Aaronlisa



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/pseuds/Aaronlisa
Summary: Tate doesn't get to escape like he always thought that he would. (Set pre-series.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for LJ's 500themes community for the prompt of "arise from the ashes."

When he died, there was a sudden shift in the air and all of his senses were heightened. He could see a bead of sweat roll down the face of the man who had shot the final shot. When he died, he didn't feel a single thing. There was no pain, just a moment of intense clarity and then empty blackness. 

He was _free_. 

Free of his mother. Free of the house. Free of the hypocrisy. Free of everything that had ever caused him pain. 

He was completely free. _Until he wasn't._

The realization that death wasn't quite as final as he had always hoped was painful and horrifying. One moment there had been absolutely nothingness and then in the next moment, he was materializing in his bedroom full of bullet holes and covered in blood. Every single part of him hurt. 

The high that had sustained him all day long was gone so there was no chemical relief as his undead body expelled the bullets that had killed him. He screamed as his body knit itself back whole. Yet at the same time he was aware of another body, one that had been grievously injured moving farther and farther away from his new body. 

When it was over, he had looked up and had seen his mother standing in the doorway, with a halo of cigarette smoke and a glass of whiskey in her hand. 

"Thought you were smarter than me, didn't you boy?" 

He doesn't respond. Instead he tries to find his way back into the empty blackness of eternal nothingness. Constance refuses to accept his silence. In two swift steps she's beside him and she kicks him. 

The pain is sharp and it steals his breath. He's dead, _fucking dead_ , yet he's still here with her. Her lips twist into a cruel smile as she looks down at him before she takes a drag off of her cigarette. 

"Now you'll never leave me Tate," Constance maliciously says. "Thought you were so damned clever, turns out you were nothing but a stupid, little boy after all." 

Tate fights back the tears of frustration as Constance walks away, her stilettos making a staccato sound on the wooden floor that hurts his head. He'll never be free of her. Somewhere in the house he hears laughter and he wishes that he could just die. 

((END))


End file.
